


this town riots with whispers

by dykejaskiers



Series: Gobblepot Holiday High Jinks 2019 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Slash, Twin Peaks Vibes, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykejaskiers/pseuds/dykejaskiers
Summary: Jim had been in town a few months only, and he’d witnessed things that made him want to walk back to the academy and ask for a reassignment.He wouldn’t, of course. Jim was too stubborn, too determined – and besides, there was the question of Cobblepot.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Series: Gobblepot Holiday High Jinks 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559254
Kudos: 27





	this town riots with whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Picture, if you will, a corrupt, small town version of Gotham, and a somewhat jaded Jim dropped in the middle of it, and you've got a fairly good idea of my mindset for this.
> 
> My tumblr is @ queergordon - stop by, yell about Gotham to me! Or don't, it's all good.

It was a strange town, Jim thought. Gotham. Tucked between mountain ranges that seemed to suffocate any chances of sunlight, run by old money and underground crime. They had a police department, like good small towns were wont to, but it seemed more intent on debating the exact minutes of an allocated coffee break than working on dismantling the corruption that ran rampant.

Jim had been there a few months only, and he’d witnessed things that made him want to walk back to the academy and ask for a reassignment.

He wouldn’t, of course. Jim was too stubborn, too determined – and besides, there was the question of Cobblepot. 

The man was sitting across from Jim in the only decent café in town, lazily spinning a spoon in his cup of coffee, counter-clockwise, trying to break down the sugar cube he’d dropped in seconds before. He looked tired and angry, which Jim had come to expect – he had a bruise blooming on the right side of his jaw, turning from yellow to purple, which Jim had also come to expect – but the new thing was, he wouldn’t meet Jim’s eyes.

Since they’d made their acquaintances, Cobblepot – _Oswald_ , he’d insisted on Jim calling him – hadn’t wasted a single day seeking him out. Whether it was at the café or down at the station, he seemed to slither by eventually. New blood, he’d said, was exciting in this town. _New faces,_ Jim had tried to amend. His remark had been laughed aside. 

At least he’d shown up today. That was better than the day before, when Jim hadn't seen him at all. He eyed Oswald, who kept his own gaze adamantly on the dark surface of his coffee. It was raining outside; the near constant downpour almost made Jim miss snow. The sky was a hazy blue-hued grey. Jim stared at it through the rain-streaked window for a while, waiting for Oswald to say something.

He didn’t. Jim heard him sigh, and sip his coffee.

“So,” Jim eventually said, growing weary of the silence. “What is it?”

“Hm?” Oswald hummed.

“What is it? Why won’t you look at me?”

Oswald did look up at that as if only to be contrary, eyes narrowed. But he said nothing, still, and Jim–

Jim was starting to get worried. 

“Well?” He pressed. “Did I do something?”

“Did you…” Oswald shook his head, looking back down. “No, James, you certainly didn’t. It’s only– well, you wouldn’t understand. It doesn’t matter.”

Anger flared somewhere inside him at the implication. Jim crossed his fingers on the table, leaning closer to Oswald over it, who in turn shirked away. “Try me,” he said in a low voice. “I thought we were friends – isn’t that what you keep saying?”

“I– yes, of course, but it’s not–” Oswald sighed, and squared his shoulders before meeting Jim’s eyes. “You wouldn’t like me, if you knew.” He looked disappointed. 

Jim frowned in confusion. “Knew what?”

Oswald began tearing one of the cheap quality napkins on the table into small shreds. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeated.

Jim racked his brain trying to think of whatever it was that had Oswald so wrecked. “The crimes?” He asked, searching for signs in Oswald’s micro expressions, but coming up empty. “I know the business you run here. I’d be an idiot not to.” Especially after the introduction speech Harvey had given him, his first week here. _Look over, see those people? Count of heads, that's, what - fifteen people, thereabouts? Nine are probably involved in some kinda hush-hush business, one or two might be killers, and the other four are wise to keep their mouths shut._

Oswald huffed an almost-there laugh. “Yes, I suspect it’s not the best kept secret around here,” he agreed. “If that were a problem for you, you would’ve run for the hills before this, detective.”

“Then… what?” Jim leaned back, glancing at the messy pile that had once been a napkin. “I can’t say I could think of anything that I wouldn’t like.” _On the contrary._

Oswald pressed his lips into a thin line. “Small towns,” he said, nonsensically. 

“Yes?” Jim prompted.

“They can be cruel,” Oswald finished after a prolonged silence. He kept his eyes firmly on the remains of the napkin, toying with one piece. “Talkative, too.” After stealing a look at Jim and noting his blank expression, he added, “Old-fashioned.”

“Yes,” Jim said slowly. “But what does that–”

“For God's sake,” Oswald interrupted, markedly more frustrated than before. _Good_ , Jim thought. _Angry people blabbered_. “People– _some_ people don’t like that you associate with me, James.”

Jim scowled. “What, I’m not good enough?”

" _N_ _o_ ,” Oswald said emphatically. “Please, do _try_ to live up to your job description – they don’t like that you associate with _me_ , James. _I_ am the problem.”

Jim blinked, silent and confused. “But the crime wasn’t an issue.”

“No,” Oswald agreed. “The crime isn’t the issue.” He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Detective, I– have you been to church? There's one not far from the station, isn't there?”

The abrupt question sent Jim reeling for a few seconds. “Yeah, they have a chapel. Haven't been. I’m not religious.”

Oswald looked somewhat pained. “Well, some people here are. Jim, please do try - we are in an old, old town.”

And then, the separate pieces of information floating around in Jim’s mind collided, and spit out a result back to him as a horn tooted somewhere, _you're an idiot!_ “Oh. _Oh._ You’re gay?”

For a moment, Oswald looked relieved at not having to try and spell it out for Jim any longer. Then his shoulders sagged, the corners of his mouth pointed downwards. “Yes. And like I said... small towns. They talk. Talking tends to come back to me, eventually. You're not gaining any favors for yourself with...” He gestured between the two of them. "This."

Jim considered it only for a little while, before nodding and saying, “Well. They can talk about me too, then, if that's the case.”

Oswald’s eyes snapped up to meet his, curious and sharp – and a little hopeful. “They can?”

“They can,” Jim confirmed. “They probably will. I don’t care. I don't need favors from them, do I?” The implication of his words wasn't lost on Oswald, who's entire body seemed to finally relax. Jim looked up the time on his wristwatch. “I have to be back at the station in ten. I’ll see you later?”

When he looked, he found Oswald smiling. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

Jim paid for Oswald’s coffee on his way out, pointedly ignoring the look the barista gave him. 

Screw him.


End file.
